Tea
by Ashe Romeo
Summary: Narcissa has tea with a blood traitor. Original character. Possibly one-shot, mainly an exploration of Slytherin politics.


_This teacup is worth as much as a cottage, _Isadora thought, rather dreamily.

The realization floated benevolently into her brain as she studied the remains of her Dragon Tear tea (from Beijing, the lady of the house had informed her) wondering if there was any future to be read in the leaves.

Outside, the rain had finally begun. Thunder echoed in the distance like war drums, and the sound was somewhat comforting. The lady of the house was sitting in a chair opposite to her, and Isadora thought that she looked like a queen bee, dressed all in yellow silk. Of course, the queen bee was studying her as if she was a crippled and incompetent _worker _bee, but Isadora was not _terribly _uncomfortable. She had expected worse.

With the thunder rumbling between them, she was direly tempted to squeak something along the lines of what-a-LOVELY-HOME-YOU-HAVE-Missus-Malfoy, but of course, such vapid expressions were expected. Men and women of the Malfoy ilk simply did not adhere to _normal _social standards, oh no. Everything, including a simple afternoon tea, was ulterior.

Which was why, Isadora realized, that she was drinking out of a teacup that was worth as much as a cottage.

Uncertainly, she traced the diamond-encrusted rim with one long, bony finger, and then was when the Queen broke the silence.

_Good! Great! _Isadora thought to herself, rather childishly, _shes _curious, _she cant _help _it!_

"Well, Miss Roquelaure", said the Malfoy matriarch, gracefully lifting the teapot (_four _cottages, Isadora thought mildly) and refilling each cup, "I am _most _delighted that you came for tea this afternoon."

"I thank you very much, Mrs. Malfoy," Isadora said automatically.

_And what a _lovely _home you have!_ the inner mouse simpered in her mind. _Such pretty _teacups!

But years and experience had tempered her into a passable snake. She only smiled a practiced, secret little smile, folding her hands delicately in her lap, where they rested like two dead doves. The teacups were a test, after all. Only the useless idiots would simper over how pretty this-and-that was, the _important _ones _ignored _the expensive things.

Mrs. Malfoy was clearly unable, at present, to determine her guests nature, and Isadora very much preferred things to stay that way.

"I must admit, however," the lady continued, pausing to sip her tea, "that I was rather _surprised _when I received your letter."

"Surprised?" Isadora echoed, in a passable imitation of coyness. She crossed her ankles and sipped her tea experimentally.

"Yes," said the lady unabashedly. "I do understand that there have been some _familial difficulties _over the years, which was why I was...perplexed. Understandably so, am I correct?"

"Of course," Isadora replied cordially.

_So shes not all about shiny things and Christmas parties, _she thought to herself. _Shes just like her sister. Bollocks. _

The other womans eyes were like ice in the sun, and Isadora realized that she was intimidated. Her judgment had been _severely _misplaced.

_Oh, well, bugger, at least its fixable._

"Mr. Malfoy and I, well, _ran into each other _in the Alley the other day," she said idly. "Kindly, he offered to assist with my parcels, and as we were conversing, he inquired as to why I have not written him. It was a very valid point. We _are _cousins."

She paused, and saw that Mrs. Malfoys face had composed itself into an impenetrable, stony mask from which no thought or expression could be read. Perhaps she was offended by the fact that her husband was related to a blood traitor. Perhaps she was offended by the fact that her husband was _speaking _to a blood traitor. Perhaps she was even offended that the blood traitor was sitting in her parlor. Isadora could not tell, and when a decidedly abused-looking house elf came scurrying into the room with a platter of pink-frosted biscuits, she accepted one and nibbled pensively.

"I see," the lady replied. "Of course, one _must_ stay in touch with ones relatives. I was merely curious, Miss Roquelaure. You have been, well, _estranged. _And I attach no offense to the statement, either."

Suddenly, Isadora felt like she was a sixteen-year old ugly duckling again, cowering behind her textbooks, red in the cheek. All she could do was quack unattractively to her swanlike peers, and try to avoid the daggers that people like this womans sister had hurled in her direction. She could feel the sweat break free in her palms, and wondered, madly, if Mrs. Malfoy could smell it somehow.

She probably could.

_You are not afraid, _she told herself, _you are not a teenager anymore, you came here of your own free will, and you are not afraid. _

"No offense taken, Mrs. Malfoy, and please, _do _call me Isadora," she recited with grace and another winningly prosaic smile. "I keep myself very busy at the Ministry, you see. I'd hate to say it, but the work has made me into quite a bit of a hermit."

She managed a modest, oh-so-silly-me titter without sounding overtly obnoxious, and was thrilled to see a flicker in Mrs. Malfoys stone mask, a faint glimmer of interest in those diamond-chip eyes.

"The Minister has so many assignments for me; I barely have time for _anyone _anymore."

That sold the ticket.

Mrs. Malfoy smiled. It was a pretty smile. Isadora wondered if she practiced in front of the mirror, or if it came to her naturally, and felt a small shiver of triumph.

"Is that so?" she inquired. "That is very unfortunate. A lady _must _have a social life. Especially one of your standards, Isadora."

This was where a less experienced young woman would falter. She would accept the bait as a compliment, and spill her guts like a fish with a hook in its mouth. But this was _not _a compliment. Not even by Mrs. Malfoy's standards.

"Oh, well, I do attend _some _functions," she said. "I'm rather surprised that I still receive invitations, to be honest, but I suppose that I haven't disappeared entirely, have I?"

"No," said Mrs. Malfoy, that smile still firmly plastered on. "_Of course _no one has forgotten about you, Isadora. Our families are very close, are they not? Its perfectly understandable that your work has distracted you."

_Tell me, tell me, _those eyes said above that smile. _Say more. _It was almost hypnotic. _Would _have been hypnotic.

To someone else.

_New mask, _Isadora thought savagely, _Attractive Socialite Wife? Lovely. _

"Oh, not _distracting, _Mrs. Malfoy, I do enjoy carrying out the Minister's demands. It's very challenging work, and knowing that I'm keeping the muggle and dark wizard population at bay is _incredibly _satisfying."

Of course this was an embellishment on her part, but it was enough to pique the ladys interest. Isadora was rewarded with another emotive glimmer in the other womans eyes.

"How _fascinating," _said Mrs. Malfoy. She withdrew her wand from inside her sleeve, and Isadora's arm twitched reflexively towards her own.

_She's going to hex me. She's going to hex me and tie me up in the basement and force Veritaserum down my throat and-_

But Mrs. Malfoy only tapped the teapot with her wand, and Isadora found herself staring at a bottle of wine. It looked very old. The letters on the label were in French.

"Now, Isadora, I understand that it is a bit early in the day, but I think that a glass of wine would go down very nicely right now. Do you agree?"

_Sweet Merlin, shes trying to get me drunk._

"That sounds wonderful, Mrs. Malfoy."

"Please," said the lady, tapping each teacup with her wand and transfiguring them into wineglasses. Isadora wondered if these were as much as a cottage, too.

"Call me Narcissa."

And then with a funny little curl to her upper lip, "We _were _schoolmates, were we not?"

Well, the game had begun in earnest now. Milady Narcissa Malfoy had recognized Isadora as her equal, in so many words. She had done it because she wanted to know more. Learning all she could from the Roquelaure bitch would be very useful to her husband and his cause. Isadora could see these deductions quite plainly, as if they were written _on _the stone mask, and was pleased to know that she was unafraid.

She took the wine when Narcissa poured her a glass.

"What shall we toast to?" she inquired, staring fixedly at the alcohol.

"Why," said Narcissa, "_Friendship, _of course."


End file.
